


Scared

by Eurus91



Series: 12DaysAfterXmas Challenge [1]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Doctor's appointment, Jack pov, Protective Jack, Sorry Mac, Worried Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), english is not my first language, hurt-comfort, panic attack not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurus91/pseuds/Eurus91
Summary: So here he is, watching the extremely nervous boy in the waiting room of the Phoenix Med. His hands kept twisting the hem of the lumberjack shirt that the Mac wore instead of that ridiculous brown leather jacket.The story takes part in the 12DaysAfterXmas Challenge called on the hurt / comfort italia group - fanfiction & fanarthttps://www.facebook.com/groups/534054389951425/
Series: 12DaysAfterXmas Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594234
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Scared

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes part in the 12DaysAfterXmas Challenge called on the hurt / comfort italia group - fanfiction & fanart  
> https://www.facebook.com/groups/534054389951425/

Jack knew the Mac. He knew it so well that he guessed his thoughts before the reactions.  
So here he is, watching the extremely nervous boy in the waiting room of the Phoenix Med. His hands kept twisting the hem of the lumberjack shirt that the Mac wore instead of that ridiculous brown leather jacket. Black. Black would be given more, Jack found himself thinking, trying to avoid dwelling too much on where he is and why they were there. Without saying a word he pulled out a paperclip, handing it to him, had a pity on that shirt and then a feared that for no apparent reason the fabric used to explode. Things tended to buum when Mac was upset. He had gotten into the habit of carrying a handful of staples with him, he had noticed that Mac thought and concentrated better if he occupied his hands. The boy gladly accepts the piece of metal accompanying the gesture with a grateful smile. Jack looks at him curiously, trying to guess in what geometric shape that silver thread would have transformed, but the Mac merely twists it nervously between his fingers. His hands trembled. Those same hands that defused who knows how many hundreds of bombs without ever shaking once, now moved agitated, without stopping.  
When the Foundation doctor calls Mac's name, he looks for the last shot at attention by swallowing a void, hiding the anxiety at the bottom, burying it, where no one but Jack used to see it.  
Jack followed him silently, giving Mac the privacy he needed. He saw him sit on the chair, ignoring the bed of the same name as the doctor had indicated and Jack chuckled, satisfied with the boy's spirit of rebellion.

"How do you feel Mac?"  
The doctor asked, and Mac shrugged in a careless gesture, but Jack noticed how his hands mostly moved around the paper clip, tormenting it.  
"Okay. We'll start by measuring blood pressure, a blood test ... normal routine."  
Mac nodded, resigned as the doctor pinned things on a rigid folder, apparently not very interested in the boy's nervous attack, who swallowed empty and began to unbutton his red flannel shirt. Slowly. Button after button, remaining with only the blue half-sleeved shirt.  
"Dude you look like a fucking snowman with all these layers of cloth."  
Mac rolled his eyes, but Jack saw the corners of his mouth take a sincere smile and Jack could almost feel satisfied. For a moment, I had seen the tension leave Mac's shoulders and relax in spite of the invasive touch of the doctor, who was wielding his arm to wrap the cuff to measure blood pressure.  
"Do you know what I was thinking about?"  
Mac shook his head in exasperation. Mac would never have admitted it and Jack would never have insisted on making him admit it, but he was quite sure, thanks to a certain confession of Riley, that Jack's chatter, however senseless, helped Mac to relax, to channel thoughts into right direction or as in this case from distracting it enough not to notice the doctor who is preparing the syringe for sampling.  
"To the Dallas Cowboys who win the Super Bowl!"  
"I should have imagined it."  
Mac muttered, shivering when sent by the doctor passes the cotton ball soaked in disinfectant in the hollow of the elbow. Jack could see him, Mac's effort to remain anchored to the present, to look for a hold that would keep him in that room, rather than catapult him into a damp, moldy and brick-walled warehouse while the Doctor proceeded with the removal.  
"Mac open your eyes."  
When the latter refuses, now close to having a full-blown panic attack, react instinctively by taking one of his hands, making him feel his presence, trying to be still so much needed today, now, for the boy.  
"I'm here Mac. We are at Phoenix Med, there is no Murdoc and you are fine. "  
"We are at the Foundation." The boy repeated, uncertain, opening just one eye, almost afraid of being dreaming and still being in Murdoc's hands. "Good boy, can you open those baby blues for me?"  
When Mac obeyed, Jack couldn't help letting go of the sigh of relief that he hadn't yet realized by holding stars.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think ♥️


End file.
